Fangs in the moonlight
by Little Lotte Daae
Summary: COMPLETED. just a little blurb on my part. the rating is for some harsh language and a little romance. it's not very long, so if you would read and review, i'd be appreciative. thank you, loves.


A/N: OOoooookay, this is just a bit of weirdness that I thought everyone might like. It's pretty different from the stuff I usually write. It's a bit of a side trip for me (away from The Phantom). Phantom is till in progress and you can expect an update soon, but plot bunnies wouldn't stop biting me for this one. So, here you have it. Just a little experiment from me.

Darkness enveloped the landscape as the violent wind slid a heavy, black cloud across the milk white moon. The grass melted from a soft, rippling silver to a sea of black pitch beneath her glimmering boots.

"Where the hell is he?"

The words permeated the near silence, broken only by the still moaning wind. Above her, the tree tops were swaying, the branches creaking and cracking in their ominous dance.

Here eyes slid along the horizon. Any moment now…

Something fell to the ground behind her with a solid thud.

She wheeled around, hissing loudly, her hand ripping her wand from the confines of her inner robe pocket.

Stillness. Silence.

"Who's there?"  
The wind tumbled by her, through her. Her long brown hair reached away from her scalp, the ends dancing wildly in the re-emerging moonlight.

The moon burst free once more, drenching her and her surroundings in a molten white blaze.

"What a temper. Never did have much self control."  
The voice in her ear was low, dark, taunting.

"About time you showed up," she snarled, stuffing her wand back into her robes and spinning on her heel angrily. Her dark brown eyes narrowed considerably as they pierced their way into his glimmering gray orbs.

"I was detained."

"No shit."

"Tsk, tsk. Is that any way for a young lady to talk?"

"I'm four hundred and eighty nine, you stupid bastard."

A smirk lifted one end of his pale lips. "Touché."

They crouched together behind a large, obsequies Flutterby Bush.

"I hate these damn things," he complained, smacking away one of the offending buds, which was currently flapping enthusiastically against his left cheek.

Her attention, however, was focused elsewhere.

Dancing with a predatory fire, her eyes slid down towards the horizon, where a violent battle was currently raging, set against the backdrop of a velvety black, starless night sky.

"I smell the blood from here," she whispered softly, unconsciously running her tongue along one glittering fang.

"When do you propose we join in?" He turned to face her, his own pearly fangs now beginning to protrude just the tiniest bit between his slightly parted lips.

"We've got orders not to make our presence known until we see the signal flare." She spoke with the practiced rationale she had spent so many years developing in her voice, but he knew it was taking every bit of her strength not to succumb to impulse and dive headfirst into the raging bloodbath before them.

They sat together in silence.

Suddenly, the landscape was illuminated by the flash of a brilliant, fifty-foot high orange flame. Screams of confusion and anger erupted from the battle field, confirming that several of the people in combat recognized the flash for what it was: a signal.

The two were on their feet before the burning image of the flash had dissolved from before their eyes.

"Ready?"

"Of course."

She sighed in relief as she felt her fangs protrude between her lips. She threw a glance over her shoulder at her companion, who was hot on her heels as she started running towards the battle field.

"You know, I always meant to ask you…"

"Can't this wait?" His eyes were growing dark, his pale nostrils flaring slightly as they drew towards the battle and the smell of blood intensified with every hurried step.  
"No."

"Shoot then."

"What made you turn to our side?"  
"Truth?"

"Please."

"I knew you'd never shag me if I stayed with Voldemort."

"You're such a bastard."

"You love it."

"Of course. That is why I married you, after all."

He surprised her by darting forward and grabbing her hand, brining them to a sudden halt, mere meters away from the raging battle where so many were currently absorbed.

"My Hermione," he hissed, bringing her hand to his mouth and tenderly running his fangs along the back of her hand, before kissing the silver, serpentine band around her fourth finger.

"My Draco," she murmured in response, running her free hand along his pale cheek, causing him to grin broadly.

"What the bloody hell are you two doing?"

They broke apart, smirking.

Hermione watched in something akin to amusement as Harry did a drop-and-roll, narrowly dodging a bolt of red light that had just been shot from Macnair's wand.

"Sorry, love," she called. "Be right there."

"Shall we, then?" Draco said cordially, extracting his own wand and firing a full body-bind at Macnair, who promptly fell over.

"Let's." She drew out her own wand as Harry staggered to his feet, looking daggers at the pair of them.

"About bloody time…" he murmured, fixing his askew glasses, before huffing off towards the other end of the field.

"Such a drama queen," Draco murmured before grabbing his wife's hand and setting off into the heart of the battle, her snickers barely reaching his ears over the renewed sounds of explosions and screams.

A/N: Weird, I know. Reviews would be appreciated. Thanks loves.


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